were left at the Old Hat, near Acton, he would take them up, and convey them to Greatworth; so my cart carries them thither, and they will set out towards you next Saturday.

I felt shocked, as you did, to think how suddenly the prospect of joy at Osterly was dashed after our seeing it. However, the young lover died handsomely. Fifty thousand pounds will dry tears, that at most could be but two months old. His brother, I heard, has behaved still more handsomely, and confirmed the legacy, and added from himself the diamonds that had been prepared for her. Here is a charming wife ready for any body that likes a sentimental situation, a pretty woman, and a large fortune.

I have been often at Bulstrode from Chaffont, but I don't like it. It is Dutch and triste. The pictures you mention in the gallery would be curious if they knew one from another; but the names are lost, and they are only sure that they have so many pounds of ancestors in the lump. One or two of them indeed I know, as the earl of Southampton, that was lord Essex's friend.

The works of Park-place' go on bravely; the cottage will be very pretty, and the bridge sublime, composed of loose rocks, that will appear to have been tumbled together there the very wreck of the deluge. One stone is of fourteen hundred-weight. It will be worth a hundred of Palladio's bridges, that are only fit to be used in an opera. I had a ridiculous adventure on my way A sir Thomas Reeves wrote to me last year, hither. that he had a great quantity of heads of painters, drawn by himself from Dr. Meade's collection, of which many were English, and offered me the use of them. This was one of the numerous unknown correspondents which my books have drawn upon me. I put it off then, but being to pass near his door, for he lives but two miles from Maidenhead, I sent him word I would call on my way to Park-place. After being carried to three wrong houses, I was directed to a very ancient mansion, composed of timber, and looking as unlike modern habitations, as the picture of Penderel's house in Clarendon. The garden was overrun with weeds, and with difficulty we found a bell

1 Park-place, near Henley in Berkshire, the seat of Walpole; correspondent-general the Honourable H. S. Conway. [Ed.]

Louis came riding back in great haste, and said, "Sir, the gentleman is dead suddenly." You may imagine I was surprised; however, as an acquaintance I had never seen was a very endurable misfortune, I was preparing to depart; but happening to ask some women, that were passing by the chaise, if they knew any circumstance of sir Thomas's death, I discovered that this was not sir Thomas's house, but belonged to a Mr. Meake, a fellow of a college at Oxford, who was actually just dead, and that the antiquity itself had formerly been the residence of Nell Gwynn. Pray inquire after it the next time you are at Frogmore. I went on, and after a mistake or two more, found sir Thomas, a man about thirty in age, and twelve in understanding; his drawings very indifferent, even for the latter calculation. I did not know what to do or say, but commended them, and his child, and his house, said I had all the heads, hoped I should see him at Twickenham, was afraid of being too late for dinner, and hurried out of his house before I had been there twenty minutes. It grieves one to receive civilities when one feels obliged, and yet finds it impossible to bear the people that bestow them.

more.

I have given my assembly, to show my gallery, and it was glorious; but, happening to pitch upon the feast of tabernacles, none of my Jews could come, though Mrs. Clive proposed to them to change the irreligion; so I am forced to exhibit once For the morning spectators, the crowd augments instead of diminishing. It is really true that lady Hertford called here t'other morning, and I was reduced to bring her by the back gate into the kitchen; the house was so full of company that came to see the gallery, that I had no where else to carry her. Adieu !

Yours ever.

P. S. I hope the least hint has never dropped from the Beaulieus of that terrible picture of sir Charles Williams, that put me in such confusion the morning they breakfasted here. If they did observe the inscription, I am sure they must have seen, too, how it distressed me. Your collection of pictures is packed up, and makes two large cases, and one smaller.

My next assembly will be entertaining; there will be five countesses, two bishops, fourteen Jews, five papists, a doctor of

physic, and an actress; not to mention Scotch, Irish, East and West Indians.

I find that, to pack up your pictures, Louis has taken some paper out of a hamper of waste, into which I had cast some of the Conway papers, perhaps only as useless; however, if you find any such in the packing, be so good as to lay them by for me.

DEAR SIR,

TO THE REV. MR. COLE.

Strawberry-hill, October 8, 1763.

You are always obliging to me, and always thinking of me kindly; yet for once you have forgotten the way of obliging me most. You do not mention any thought of coming hither, which you had given me cause to hope would be about this time. I flatter myself nothing has intervened to deprive me of that visit. Lord Hertford goes to France the end of next week; I shall be in town to take leave of him; but, after the 15th, that is, this day se'nnight, I shall be quite unengaged, and the sooner I see you after the 15th, the better, for I should be sorry to drag you across the country in the badness of November roads.

I shall treasure up your notices against my second edition ; for the volume of Engravers is printed off, and has been some time; I only wait for some of the plates. The book you mention I have not seen, nor do you encourage me to buy it. Sometime or other, however, I will get you to let me turn it

over.

As I will trust that you will let me know soon when I shall have the pleasure of seeing you here, I will make this a very short letter indeed. I know nothing new or old worth telling

you.

Your obedient and obliged humble servant.

To GEORGE MONTAGU, Esq.

Strawberry-hill, November 12, 1763.

I SEND you the catalogue as you desired; and as I told you, you will, I think, find nothing to your purpose: the present lord bought all the furniture pictures at Navestock:1 the few now to be sold are the very fine ones of the best masters, and likely to go at vast prices, for there are several people determined to have some one thing that belonged to Lord Waldegrave. I did not get the catalogue till the night before last, too late to send by the post, for I had dined with sir Richard Lyttleton at Richmond, and was forced to return by Kew-bridge, for the Thames was swelled so violently that the ferry could not work. I am here quite alone in the midst of a deluge, without Mrs. Noah, but with half as many animals. The waters are as much out as they were last year, when her vice-majesty of Ireland, that now is sailed to Newmarket with both legs out at the fore glass, was here. A-propos, the Irish court goes on ill; they lost a question by forty the very first day on the address. The Irish, not being so absurd or so complimental as Mr. Allen, they would not suffer the word adequate to pass. The prime minister is so unpopular that they think he must be sent back. His patent and Rigby's are called in question. You see the age is not favourable to prime ministers: well! I am going amidst it all, very unwillingly; I had rather stay here, for I am sick of the storms, that once loved them so cordially over and above, I am not well; this is the third winter my nightly fever has returned; it comes like the bellman before Christmas, to put me in mind of my mortality.

Sir Michael Foster is dead, a Whig of the old rock: he is a greater loss to his country than the prim attorney-general,3 who has resigned, or than the attorney's father, who is dying, will be.

1 In Essex, the seat of the Waldegraves. [Ed.]

2 The countess of Northumberland. [Ed.]

3 The hon. Charles Yorke, who was subsequently appointed lord high chancellor, but died suddenly, 22d January 1770, while the patent of his creation to the barony of Morden was in progress. [Ed.]

4 Philip Yorke, first earl of Hardwicke, whose death did not take place however until the 6th March 1764. [Ed.]

1

My gallery is still in such request, that, though the middle of November, I gave out a ticket to-day for seeing it. I see little of it myself, for I cannot sit alone in such state; I should think myself like the mad duchess of Albemarle, who fancied herself empress of China. Adieu!

5

Yours ever.

I ask you nothing about your coming, for I conclude we shall not see you till Christmas. My compliments to your brother John, and your almoner Mr. Miller.

To GEORGE MONTAGU, Esq.

Arlington-street, Nov, 20, 1763.

You are in the wrong; believe me you are in the wrong to stay in the country; London never was so entertaining since it had a steeple or a madhouse. Cowards fight duels; secretaries of state turn methodists on the Tuesday, and are expelled the play-house for blasphemy on Friday. I am not turned methodist, but patriot, and, what is more extraordinary, am not going to have a place. What is more wonderful still, lord Hardwicke has made two of his sons resign their employments. I know my letter sounds as enigmatic as Merlin's almanack: but my events have really happened. I had almost persuaded myself like you to quit the world; thank my stars I did not. Why I have done nothing but laugh since last Sunday; though on Tuesday I was one of a hundred and eleven, who were outvoted by three hundred; no laughing matter generally to a true patriot, whether he thinks his country undone or himself. Nay, I am still more absurd; even for my dear country's sake I cannot bring myself to connect with lord Hardwicke, or the duke of Newcastle, though they are in the minority-an unprecedented case, not to love every body one despises, when they are of the same side. On the contrary, I fear I resemble a fond woman, and dote on the dear betrayer. In short, and to write something that you can understand, you know I have long had

5 Widow of Christopher duke of Albemarle, and daughter of the duke of Newcastle. [Or.]